


Bullets and Demons

by SketchyAme



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Abuse, Anxiety, Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Blood and Gore, Demon Summoning, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gun Violence, Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Hatred, Sex Work, bittersweet ending planned, feel free to critique
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchyAme/pseuds/SketchyAme
Summary: Molly rescues a cold and injured Anthony, but Henry isn't going to let Anthony live that easily.Based on the flashbacks in "I Thought I Knew You" by WhySoSeven. While the story should make sense on its own, it contains some spoilers for "I Thought I Knew You" (chapters 7, 8, and 13) and I highly recommend reading WhySoSeven's work first.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 31





	1. Rescue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhySoSeven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhySoSeven/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I Thought I Knew You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21594922) by [WhySoSeven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhySoSeven/pseuds/WhySoSeven). 



Anthony cursed in frustration, the bullet wound in his left shoulder throbbing, the cool breeze like needles against his cold and wet skin. He'd fucked up, fallen into a river, and lost his last dose of Angel Dust—the one thing that might have helped him deal with the horrible pain. There was nowhere he could go for help. Who would take in a whore like him? No one. Especially not his pops. Not after the fucker shot Anthony.

A yelp roused Anthony from his thoughts, and he turned just in time to see his sister Molly sliding down the slope next to the river. She safely skidded to a halt right at the edge of the river, to Anthony's relief. Molly rose quickly and turned to Anthony, an expression of hope playing across her features—one Anthony shared.

“Tony!” Molly cried, rushing to meet Anthony under the bridge he was sheltering in.

“Molls!” Anthony shot up and immediately crumpled as a fresh wave of agony coursed through his body.

“Shit! Tony, wait, I'll help you!” Molly scrambled over to Anthony, resting a hand on his uninjured shoulder that felt warm and comforting. She slowly guided him up to a sitting position, then half-lifted him into a standing position. Anthony wobbled in her grip, not quite able to hold himself up.

“We can't make it ta Becca's house on foot, not when you're like this,” Molly started. “There's a payphone nearby. It's not a long walk. Think you can do it?”

Anthony heaved a breath, feeling his shoulder ache with every movement. “Don't think I got any other choice, Molls.”

Molly smiled weakly. “I'll help ya, dontcha worry.”

“Wasn't worried about _that_ ,” Anthony smiled back.

The two slowly trekked up the river slope, careful to mind their step, but unable to help a few slips that sent pain shooting through Anthony. At the top of the slope, the two rested, Molly rubbing comforting circles in Anthony's back as Anthony shivered. The rest of the trek to the payphone was a slow, difficult process, but they'd eventually made it to the payphone, Anthony crying out in hope when the payphone came into view.

Molly pulled Anthony into the payphone and against the wall, carefully propping him on his right shoulder. She jabbed the phone's keys and pressed the phone to her ear, praying Becca would answer—and quickly. As the phone rang, Molly stole a glance at Anthony, who was shivering, bloody, and looked ready to pass out.

Becca finally picked up. “It's Molly. I need ya help right now. Can't explain. I'm at that park near my house.”

“5 minutes” is all Becca replied with before hanging up.

The wait was agony. The bullet wound continued to throb and Anthony had to desperately fight to stay awake. Even with Molly constantly chattering and gently patting Anthony when he nearly dozed, it was quickly becoming a losing battle.

To her word, Becca arrived 5 minutes from the call. One look at Anthony's shoulder and she popped the trunk, scrambling out of her vehicle and rustling through the trunk's contents. She quickly came out with a first aid kit and rushed to Anthony's side.

“You're real fuckin' lucky I keep a first aid kit in there,” Becca hissed.

Molly smiled, tears falling from her eyes. “I knew. Do you have a blanket?”

Becca shook her head. “Got a coat in the back. It'll have to do.”

Becca hastily applied gauze to stem the bleeding, barking out questions and things that sounded like they were supposed to be reassuring. Anthony was barely able to mumble out responses when asked. When Becca seemed satisfied with her work, she guided Anthony to the backseat with Molly's assistance and the two piled into the car. Molly quickly found and covered Anthony in the coat in the back and the two huddled together, Anthony shivering furiously, a tired grin stretched across his face.

Becca climbed into the backseat. “To the hospital?”

“No!” the twins shouted.

Becca looked back at them suspiciously, and Molly quickly explained the situation: their family, Anthony's history with crime, what would happen to him in jail. Becca huffed, but didn't press them further, simply starting the car and driving off.


	2. Shelter

Anthony rested on Becca's couch with Molly by his side, a blood bag hooked up to his arm. Becca had somehow managed to coerce her doctor father into a secret impromptu house visit. Anthony needed the bullet wound and blood loss properly treated, and while an apartment building wasn't the ideal location for medical treatment, they didn't have much of a choice. Once Becca's father had finished treating the bullet wound and setting up the blood transfusion, he went over to sit on the floor across from the twins, eyes flicking between a newspaper and Anthony.

Becca sat in the small apartment kitchen, slowly penciling in answers to a crossword puzzle as stew simmered on the stove. She was finding it hard to focus on the puzzle, worry gnawing at her mind, but there wasn't much she could do at the moment. Anthony was recovering. Molly wouldn't have to witness her brother's death. But...

Becca stood from her seat to pace the kitchen. What if Anthony _didn't_ recover? Her dad was a good doctor, but that didn't mean he could save everyone. What if Henry came back to finish the job? Becca had loaded her gun and brought it with her to the kitchen, just in case, but would she be able to deal with a notorious mobster if he came in, guns blazing? Would she be able to deal with the men he'd surely bring with him? She was only one woman—one with barely any experience in the criminal underworld.

The kitchen timer rang, jolting Becca from her thoughts. She hurried over to the stew to stir it one last time, before turning off the heat and preparing four bowls to serve it in. She ladled the portions out one at a time, then took two bowls in her hands, walking to the living room and setting the bowls on the coffee table. She gently shook Molly.

Molly jolted up with a panicked expression, quickly calming when she saw it was only Becca that woke her.

“Food's ready, hun,” Becca whispered.

Molly nodded, waking her brother and helping him to shuffle into a sitting position. Anthony groaned with every movement, a dull ache in his shoulder, even in spite of the pain killers he'd recently taken. When he was finally sitting upright, he happily took his bowl and shoved a spoonful of the stew in his mouth. He moaned in pleasure at the taste and the _warmth_.

“God, this is the best thing I've put in my mouth in years,” Anthony said, before quickly shoveling more of the stew into his mouth.

Becca snorted. “I bet it is, after what you've been through.”

Molly took her bowl and gave Becca a grateful smile. “Thank you so much.”

Becca returned the smile, then turned to her father. “I'll get yours next.”

Her father laughed and stood. “No need, dear. I have legs.”

Becca shook her head fondly, then sat across from Molly and Anthony. “How you doin', Tony?”

Anthony paused to chew for a moment, then spoke. “Better. Those painkillers work quick.”

“Good,” Becca smiled. “Listen. You stay for as long as you need. I won't go kickin' you out the second you recover.”

Anthony grinned. “That's great. Probably get shot or freeze to death if I go out there.”

Becca frowned. “Do you think your father'll come after you?” She had considered the possibility.

Anthony grimaced. “Dunno, maybe. He'll be pissed when he finds out I lived.”

Becca's hummed. “We should get more guns, probably barricade up the house, too. I won't risk either of you gettin' killed.”

Anthony nodded. “I'll help—”

“No, you need to rest,” Molly interrupted.

Anthony huffed. He didn't want to just sit on his lazy ass and do nothing, but the look on Molly's face told him she'd _force_ him to rest if she had to.

“I gotta clean record, so the guns should be easy to get a hold of,” Becca continued. “Landlord'll probably jump me if we nail up any boards, but we can at least put some furniture against the windows and entrances.”

Molly nodded. “I'll help ya move anything heavy.”

“After we eat,” Becca said.

Molly smiled. “Of course.”


	3. The Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious why I've posted three chapters in a day, I'm hyperfocused and excited to the point that writing and editing are going extremely quickly, and I've spent most of my day writing. Thankfully the project is only going to be about 10 chapters (give or take a few) and the chapters are fairly short, so I don't think I'm at risk of burning out by working this quickly. I appreciate your feedback and hope you like what I've got in store for you!
> 
> Also mild self-injury TW. It's part of a ritual.

It had only been a day, but Anthony felt better than he had in ages. His injuries were treated, he'd eaten better than he had in over a decade, and he got to sleep in a warm home. He could walk again, though Molly kept pestering him to continue resting. Sure, he could still feel small pangs of pain in his left shoulder, even with pain killers, and he was a little groggy, but that was a damn sight better than freezing out in the winter cold, with volatile drugs as his only company. A gun rested by his couch, a reminder of the imminent danger he was in, but also a comfort. If some fucker came to kill him, he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Molly and Becca were out of the house at the moment, getting groceries and other things they needed around the apartment. Becca's father was busy in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. Anthony was tempted to sneak out for a walk, but not enough to risk his head. He may be an impulsive dumbass, but he wasn't _that_ dumb.

Anthony heard a knock at the door, and he stared in the direction of the door, not quite able to see it past the hulking bookcase barricading it. He approached the spot where the door was and shouted, “What the fuck you want?”

The deep, raspy voice of woman he didn't recognize answered. “I have something for you, Anthony.”

“Fuck off!” Anthony yelled. “I ain't fallin' for that shit!”

“I am not an ally of your father's, Anthony,” she said, keeping her voice calm and collected.

“Bullshit!”

The voice on the other side of the door sighed. “If you will not let me in, may I at least slip my gift under the door?”

“What ya got for me, huh? Poison?” Anthony sneered.

The voice chuckled. “No, no. It's a single sheet of paper with some information you might find...useful.”

“Why cantcha just tell it ta me right now?” Anthony pressed.

“There are some...visuals that cannot be communicated through speech,” the voice explained.

Anthony considered his options. He _could_ just tell her to fuck off. On the other hand, he really wanted to know what 'information' she had. Maybe it would be useful. Worst case scenario, there was a doctor in the other room.

“Alright, gimme a sec,” Anthony said. “I need ta move the bookcase a little.”

“Of course, Anthony,” the voice hummed.

Anthony pushed the bookcase aside with his good shoulder, the strain still causing the pain to flare up a little. Thank God he was on meds. He probably would have collapsed doing this, otherwise. With a few more shoves, there was enough space for a letter to slip under the door. “Alright?”

She slid a piece of paper with strange symbols written all over it into the apartment. “That is all.” After that, all he heard was her fading footsteps.

Anthony picked up the paper, tensing in anticipation of whatever might be laced into it. When he felt fine, he examined the paper closer, discovering it was a set of instructions. According to this, he had to write a series of symbols in a circle, cut his hand to bleed over the circle, and chant a nonsense phrase to summon Alastor, the Radio Demon. The instructions ended with a note to carefully consider the deal he wanted to make ahead of time.

“This is nuts,” Anthony mumbled. There was no way this was real. He may have believed in Hell, but there was no way he could just summon a demon. Right? What kind of deal could he make, anyways? 'Make sure me and my roommates don't get shot and I'll sell my soul to you?'

...On second thought, maybe Anthony _could_ make that kind of deal. There was no way in hell mobsters were equipped to deal with an actual demon. He could make sure he, his sister, and her friend made it out of this alive.

Anthony found a marker and headed to the restroom of the apartment, the only private space he was willing to enter, especially for what he was about to do. He reviewed the instructions, carefully examining the symbols and phrase he needed. He settled down and started slowly drawing each symbol, checking the paper often to make sure he got it right. Once he finished the circle, he rifled through the medicine cabinet to find a razor, and made the cut across his palm, repeating the strange words written on the sheet as his blood trickled onto the tiled floor.

The room darkened, crackling static and symbols filling the space above the summoning circle, shadow creatures swirling on the walls.

This was a terrible idea.

A looming shadow materialized in the middle of the circle and popped, scattering the static, symbols and shadows, and revealing a handsome red demon in a dapper striped suit. He had a massive grin on his face filled with rows of sharp, yellow teeth. His red eyes were scanning the bathroom, a look of irritation across his face, except for that smile. This must be Alastor.

“Now this is hardly an appropriate stage for a negotiation,” Alastor complained, his voice crackling with static.

Anthony winced. “Sorry, I was just...excited to meetcha!”

Alastor raised a brow. “What is your name, my young fellow?”

“Uh, Anthony. I'm Anthony.”

“Well, Anthony, what is it you called me here for?” Alastor's gaze sharpened. “I would hate to have wasted my time coming here.”

Anthony shuddered. He definitely did _not_ want to piss this demon off. “I wanted to make a deal with ya. Protect me, Molly, and Becca for the rest of our lives. I'll give ya my eternal soul in return.”

“And why would I give up my valuable time just for one mortal soul?” Alastor glared.

 _Shitshitshit_. “I can do anything you want! I can suck your dick—“ from Alastor's look of disgust, that was probably off the table “—I can kill anyone ya want. I got all kinds of connections with big time mobsters. And, hey, if one mortal soul isn't enough, I can help ya get more souls. I can be pre~tty convincing.”

Alastor hummed. “Now _that_ is an interesting proposition. Having mortal souls primed to serve me in Hell could prove quite useful. Hmm... I'll take you up on that offer!”

“Yeah?” Anthony smiled weakly.

“Do we have a deal?” Alastor grinned wider, putting out his hand to shake, sending a shockwave through the small bathroom. A huge, pulsing green light emitted from his hand. Sentient shadows flew around the room, silently cackling in delight.

This was a terrible idea.

Anthony grabbed Alastor's hand and shook it firmly, feeling the magic seep into his bones as a crackling bolt of energy swirled around their joined hands. The deal was sealed. There was no going back now.


	4. Lackey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight gore TW.

The sound of gunshots rang through the apartment. Anthony and Alastor rushed out of the bathroom and into the chaos in the living room. Molly and Becca were hiding behind the tipped over coffee table. A lackey of Henry's shot at the two, a look of grim determination on his face.

“What the fuck?” Anthony shouted before he could think better of it.

The lackey turned to Anthony and Alastor, expression shifting to one of horror and shock. He fired a shot square in Alastor's forehead, the demon's head snapping back. Anthony stared at the demon in horror, wondering if demons could be killed.

If they could, apparently a gunshot to the head wasn't enough to do it. Alastor's head snapped forward, his eyes transformed into dials and his grin twisted into something sinister. Alastor lunged for the lackey, digging his fingers into the lackey's face and chest before tearing the lackey's head from his body. Blood sprayed from the neck, splattering the nearby walls, furniture, and floor. No one in the room dared take a breath as the Radio Demon dropped the parts of the lackey.

“Well, that was entertaining!” Alastor cheered, back to his normal demeanor in the blink of an eye.

Anthony gaped at Alastor. He was _really_ fucking glad he hadn't pissed off Alastor.

“Who the fuck— _What_ the fuck are you?” Becca shouted at Alastor.

“I'm Alastor. Pleasure to meet you, my dear!” Alastor rushed forward to shake Becca's hand. “And what are your names?”

Becca froze, staring at the blood Alastor had smeared on her hand.

Molly spoke shakily. “I'm Molly, Sir. And she's Becca.”

Becca shook herself from her daze, glaring at Alastor. “What are you doin' here?”

“My dear,” Alastor glared back, “I have been tasked to protect you three by darling Anthony. I am simply here to do my job.”

Molly and Becca shot looks at Anthony. He shrunk back, feeling self-conscious.

“I thought we needed backup, okay?” Anthony crossed his arms.

Molly sighed. “I know ya mean well, Tony, but I dunno if we can trust him. He's—”

“He's bound by contract,” Anthony said. “He _has_ to protect us.”

Molly and Becca looked expectantly at Alastor, who nodded in confirmation.

“A demon's contract is no light thing! My very soul is bound in these terms,” Alastor explained. “As is Anthony's.”

“A demon—You're goin' to Hell for this, Tony,” Molly whispered.

“I already was,” Anthony said, his lip curled in a sad smile.

Molly looked down, face twisted in grief. He was right, but she didn't want to admit it. Didn't want to think about her own _brother_ suffering in Hell.

“Where is your kitchen?” Alastor asked suddenly.

Becca stared at him in suspicion. “Why?”

Alastor grinned wider. “My dear, we need to do something with the body, and it's been ages since I've had human flesh.”

Becca stared, a mixture of horror and anger on her face.

“It's this way, Smiles.” Anthony pointed to the kitchen doorway, earning a delighted laugh from Alastor.

“Thank you, my dear,” Alastor cheered. “I think I'll make my mother's Jambalaya! Do any of you want some?”

“No!” the three shouted.

Alastor rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. More for myself, then.”

Alastor danced over to the body, collecting the parts, then shimmied towards the kitchen, jazz music playing along as he moved. As he entered the kitchen, Becca's father slipped out past him, a look of horror and confusion on his face. The jazz music continued to play as Alastor got to chopping up the lackey. Anthony, Molly, and Becca stood dumbfounded, staring at the kitchen doorway.

“Should we stop him?” Becca asked.

“No way,” Anthony insisted. He did _not_ want to find out what that crazy fucker would do if any of them tried.


	5. Roman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: gun violence, homophobia, gore, implied drug use

Alastor had spent most of the day prior getting a lay of the neighborhood, only to return that night to fetch Anthony for a 'little night trip.' Anthony nervously tugged at the hem of his jacket, trying to ignore his pounding headache and shaking hands. Withdrawal was starting to kick in, and it hurt like hell. He hoped the trip was to get some drugs.

“Where the hell we goin' anyways?” Anthony whispered.

“We're meeting our first mark,” Alastor explained. “There's a rather powerful drug lord I'd like on my side. He has a quite valuable position in the criminal underworld, and I'd like to take advantage of that.”

Anthony knew who Alastor was talking about. Roman was the biggest drug supplier in town. Anthony had worked with the man plenty of times, at first to help his father with deals, then later to get his hands on his own drugs. It was Roman who'd introduced Anthony to Angel Dust in the first place. Maybe he _would_ get some drugs today.

They arrived at Roman's office soon enough, Alastor knocking politely on the door.

A lackey opened the door, his eyes going wide at the sight of Alastor. “What the fuck are you?”

“Alastor! May I speak to Roman?”

“Boss don't know no fuckin' 'Alastor,'” the lackey grumbled.

“Not yet,” Alastor said. “I am interested in negotiating a deal.”

The lackey glared at Alastor suspiciously, then turned and said, “Gimme a sec to get the boss.”

The two waited patiently for the lackey to return, waving them in and guiding them to the desk where Roman sat. Anthony recalled sitting under that desk a few times to earn some drugs. Roman smiled at Anthony. Evidently he remembered that, too.

Roman turned to Alastor, expression gruff. “What the fuck do ya want, freak?”

“I've come to make a deal,” Alastor answered, eyes narrowing in irritation.

“I don't like the look of ya, so why dontcha fuck off back where you came from,” Roman glared.

Alastor hummed, “Maybe we should speak a language you'll understand better.”

Alastor looked to Anthony, who quickly pulled the gun out of his waistband and pointed it at Roman's head. Roman's hands shot up and he sent a glare in Anthony's direction. Anthony could hear the click of a gun being cocked behind him. The lackey.

Alastor tutted, snapping his fingers. A shadow enveloped the lackey and twisted his head sharply, snapping his neck with a sickening crack. The lackey collapsed, gun clattering against the floor.

“I thought ya wanted to talk,” Roman spat.

“Oh, I'd love to do nothing more,” Alastor said, an obvious lie, “but you're being quite difficult.”

“What do ya want?” Roman gruffed.

“I want your services,” Alastor grinned. “You could prove quite useful to my goals.”

“And if I refuse?” Roman glared.

“Ohoho, you will be going to hell either way,” Alastor chuckled, “and I can ensure your eternity is especially unpleasant, if you wish.”

“Fuck you,” Roman hissed. Alastor lifted his hand to snap, but Anthony beat Alastor to the punch, firing a shot at Roman's shoulder, causing him to stumble back and curse.

“We ain't kiddin' around, fucker!” Anthony shouted. “Take the deal or I won't miss your head next time!”

Roman glared at Anthony, baring his teeth. “Do your worst, faggot.”

Alastor watched in delight as Anthony walked up and pressed the barrel to Roman's head, firing and splattering gore against the desk and floor. Roman's lifeless corpse fell back with a quiet thud. Alastor made a mental note to find the man in Hell. No one had the right to talk back to the Radio Demon—or his charge—especially not a mere mortal man.

Anthony huffed and turned to Alastor, expression pensive.

“What's the matter, dear?” Alastor wondered.

“Weren't we supposed to make a deal with him?” Anthony asked.

“Oh, don't worry about _that_ ,” Alastor grinned. “I would have killed him, had you not.”

Anthony laughed in relief. “What now?”

“I believe we have a drug empire to claim,” Alastor chuckled.

Anthony grinned. He was _definitely_ going to get some drugs today.


	6. Concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: drug use, anxiety/panic attack, self-hate

In the morning, Anthony stumbled up to the apartment door, smacking the door and slurring out his sister's name. Alastor followed Anthony, keeping an entertained eye on his drugged up companion. The sound of the bookshelf being scooted aside was the only warning the two got before the door swung open—a warning Anthony didn't head, as he fell face first into the apartment building.

Alastor strolled into the building beside Anthony, ignoring the hate filled glare Becca was sending his way and the tears streaking down Molly's face. “Good morning!”

“Where the fuck were you two?!” Becca shouted, causing Anthony to jump and scramble up from the floor.

“We had something to attend to,” Alastor replied coolly. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Nothing—?! We were worried sick!” Becca screamed.

“'M sorry,” Anthony slurred.

“Ya went out to get drugs,” Molly said matter-of-factly.

Alastor laughed heartily. “No, no, no. I simply gave Anthony a reward for services rendered.”

Becca gritted her teeth. “I swear to god, if you're puttin' Tony in danger—”

“Oh please, you couldn't possibly pose a threat to me. And if you try,” Alastor's eyes turned to dials, static crackling with murderous intensity. “I can show you what happens to those that cross me. It's quite entertaining—for me.”

“And break your contract?” Becca scoffed. “Yeah fuckin' right. You won't do shit to me.”

Alastor clenched his fists. “I am only required to protect you while you're alive. I can do what I please when you inevitably find yourself in Hell.”

Anthony tensed, mind filling with horrific images of his sister and friend being tortured by Alastor. He didn't even think about what would happen when they died. He'd just assumed it wouldn't matter, like a fucking idiot. Anthony's breathing picked up pace as the room closed in on him. He felt a hand on his arm, and, for a single moment, he'd thought that was Alastor's hand—that he was in Hell, about to receive his torment.

“Tony, breathe,” Molly soothed, rubbing Anthony's arm with her thumb.

“I-I'm so sorry, Molls,” Anthony sputtered, tears falling down his face. “I didn' think—'m so stupid—”

Molly enveloped Anthony in a hug, causing him to go silent. “You can be an impulsive idiot sometimes,” Molly said, “but I still love ya. Ya know that, right?”

Anthony sniffed, nodding.

“Are you ok?” Molly asked, gripping Anthony tighter. “That demon didn't do nothin' to ya, right?”

Anthony smiled. “'M _fine_ , Molls.”

“Where were you last night?” Molly asked as gently as possible.

Anthony stumbled through the events last night in as much detail as he could remember. His mind was fuzzy, but he could at least give Molly the basics. He assured her that Alastor had cleaned up the aftermath, ensuring none of Roman's allies came after them. Molly and Becca didn't look especially convinced.

“If you're goin' out there again, I wanna go with ya,” Molly said.

Anthony smiled and shook his head. “Ya don' hafta, Molls.”

“Tony, you've had to deal with so much on your own for twelve years. I wanna be there for you now,” Molly insisted.

Anthony chocked on a sob. He didn't have the heart to tell her no. After years of just being some whore on the streets, it felt amazing to be truly cared about by someone. To be with _real_ family.

Alastor and Becca glared at each other, fists clenched, minds racing with fantasies of the other being ripped to shreds.


	7. Interruption

Molly had been in Roman's office before. She, like her siblings, had been expected to help with the family business, and that meant sometimes helping with drug deals. She'd expected some changes, now that Alastor and Anthony were in charge of the place, but she hadn't expected a complete overhaul of the entire office. The original room had been gray, disheveled, and sparsely decorated. Alastor had changed everything, installing a red carpet and wallpaper, bringing in nice wooden furniture—including a row of bookshelves—and filling the space with tasteful decor. He'd even brought a fucking _chandelier_ into the office.   
  
There was a radio on one of the bookshelves playing jazz. Molly and Anthony relaxed on a couch, while Alastor mumbled to himself at his desk, planning his next moves. Suddenly, the radio cut off and Alastor stood. The door opened at the same time, two nicely dressed men stepping into the room.  
  
“Welcome, gentlemen!” Alastor beamed.  
  
The younger of the men grinned back. The older kept a steady eye on Alastor, distrust apparent in his gaze.  
  
“You made this place look amazin',” the younger mused.   
  
“Get comfortable, gentlemen.” Alastor gestured to the chairs.  
  
Both quickly took their seats, and Alastor returned to his seat, clasping his hands together.  
  
“Now, let's discuss a deal...”  
  
Alastor had also quickly got to work striking deals with various mobsters and criminals that relied on the drug empire for one reason or another. For many, the opportunity to keep advantageous relationships or be able to go without horrific withdrawal was enough to coerce them into shaking Alastor's hand. For those that were more argumentative, a gun to the head was often enough to cow them into submission. A rare few met their end in that office, Alastor watching in delight as Anthony shot them.   
  
So far, this return to the crime life was going surprisingly smoothly. Yet, it was inevitable that something would come to ruin the relative peace. Gunshots and the sound of screams just outside the office startled everyone but Alastor. Instead, Alastor's smile remained plastered on, but his eyes and a flick of his ear betrayed the annoyance he was feeling.  
  
“I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me a moment to deal with this interruption,” Alastor growled.  
  
The two men nodded quickly, allowing Alastor to dash out of the office. The four still in the office could hear the screams multiply at first, then, quickly, voice after voice cut off with a gurgle or a thud. Alastor laughed through it all, clearly enjoying the slaughter. When the screaming died down, Alastor talked briefly with one of the guards stationed by the office, before coming back in. For a moment, everyone got a good look at the blood splattered across Alastor. The two men gasped, but Anthony and Molly didn't react, used to this kind of violence from the mob life and Alastor himself.   
  
Alastor snapped once and the mess miraculously disappeared.  
  
“Did ya catch who those guys were before ya killed 'em all?” Anthony asked with a teasing tone.  
  
Alastor's grin widened. “Oh yes, Anthony. None other than the Irish graced us with a visit! We should return the favor, but first—” Alastor jaunted over to his desk chair, taking a seat once again. “Let's continue where we left off, gentlemen.”


	8. Death and Dancing

Bodies littered the Irish base, torn apart by black tendrils that Alastor had summoned. Anthony and Molly stumbled over the corpses, still impressed and horrified by the display of power. The Irish leader glared at Alastor, but didn't put up a fight. It wasn't like he could actually do anything to someone with as much raw power as Alastor. The leader begrudgingly went along when Alastor proposed a deal.

With that victory, there weren't many mobsters left for Alastor to deal with. Besides a few small-time criminals, the biggest mob boss left was Henry—one who wasn't likely to cow to Alastor, even with a gun put to his head. Pops was one of the most stubborn son of a bitches Anthony had ever known. Anthony wouldn't mourn his father—in fact, it might be nice to get back at the piece of shit for nearly killing him—but Molly... Molly cared about their family.

“Hey, Molls, I think Al's gonna get to pops soon.”

“I know,” Molly answered, not looking at Anthony. “I hope he refuses Alastor's deal.”

Anthony gave Molly a confused look, and Molly smiled weakly back at him.

“He tried to kill ya, Tony,” Molly said. “I still don't forgive him for that.”

Anthony smiled. “Yeah, I don't feel particularly forgivin', either.”

Alastor simply looked ahead, taking note of the conversation without responding. He felt an urge well up within him to tear Henry limb from limb. It was quite tempting to act on that impulse, to simply get rid of the troublesome man, but Alastor waited. As entertaining as it would be to torture and kill Henry himself, Alastor didn't want to deny Anthony the chance at revenge—especially not when Alastor would likely get to watch Henry be slain by his own son. 

Back at the office, Molly set off to prepare a meal, leaving Anthony and Alastor alone in the room. Static crackled in the air, and a catchy jazz tune started playing from Alastor's mic. Anthony looked to Alastor, who put his hand out in a silent offer to dance. Anthony took it with a grin, allowing himself to be pulled into a twirl by Alastor. Spinning and swaying to the beat, the two danced throughout the office, a genuine smile on both their faces. 

As the first song petered out and a new, slower song started, Alastor pulled Anthony toward him until the two were close enough to feel each other's breathes. Anthony flushed as Alastor started guiding him through a slow dance, a hand on Anthony's waist. With each beat, the two inched closer together. As the song slowed to it's end, the two closed together, lips pressed gently against each other. For a breathless moment, the two stood still, enjoying the taste of the other, before parting with a grin.


End file.
